


Cornerstone

by ChocolatePecan



Series: A Place for Tomorrow [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Brotherly Love, Denouncement, Gen, Teachers, ignis is insolent, loss of innocence is painful, sacrifice in service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 03:59:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15331233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolatePecan/pseuds/ChocolatePecan
Summary: In the last days of the brothers' stay at Cape Caem, Ignis stands at the top of the lighthouse and ponders the challenges yet to come.He has suspicions about them. He knows there are dark times ahead, but he doesn't know what they will be.When he was nine years old, a trusted teacher showed him a forbidden text. It's one Ignis has never been able to unsee.





	Cornerstone

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sixth prompt fill from an 'inspire me!' request on my [tumblr](https://chocolatepecan.tumblr.com/) a while back. I'm not taking new prompts for now, as I have started taking commissions. 
> 
> This one's for the very lovely Anon 2 and their prompt words: deliverance, Ignis, weapon, and Cape Caem. This story managed to turn into something completely different to what I'd intended! I hope you still enjoy it <3

From the top floor of the lighthouse at Cape Caem, Ignis can see the claw of Angelgard. It protrudes from the sea and grasps at the rising sun as though to prevent its ascension.

Sunrises have been getting later and later, and sunsets earlier and earlier. It doesn’t make sense. If the phenomenon continues, within a few months there will be no daylight at all. The weather is already starting to chill in response to the increased darkness, and the daemons’ nightly hunts are lasting longer.

Ignis holds the lapels of his lived-in fatigues against an easterly draught stealing over him. The stark view of Angelgard makes his shoulders tingle. Leaning on the handrail, he rubs the erect hairs on his neck.

He trusts his intellect, but not at the expense of his highly refined instincts. They tell him trouble is coming. Something even bigger than the fall of Insomnia, the earning of the covenants, the increase in the number, size, and strength of the daemons. It’s as obvious to him as it is to look both ways before he crosses the road, or to turn the gas off when he’s finished with the stove.

He knows the lore of the gods. It is inexorably linked to the royal line, and to the covenant between the Founder King and the Six.

While he was still in single digits, Ignis received an intensive education that included the history and religions of Eos. He still remembers sitting at a desk in his solar at the Citadel, the geometrically perfect Star of Lucis stitched into a tapestry that lingers benignly over his shoulder.

His teacher – a man with a grizzled beard, bent back, and two hearing aids – had stood in the light of the windows and said, _When first the crystal came under the watch of the Lucii, the six warned that its power was a loan and not a gift._

He walked to Ignis’ desk with the slow conviction of one who can’t rush. Leaning in, he’d pressed the tips of his fingers to the smooth cherry wood. _The price for using the power of the crystal to build Insomnia has not yet been paid. The debt must be settled, with interest. Do you understand?_

Ignis wasn’t sure he did. _That would seem contrary to the rules of macroeconomics_ , he’d said, in one of his early shows of stupidly.

Teacher Eruditio tapped his fingertips on the desk. _Time is a living thing, Scientia. People often speak of it as a line, or as a measurable constant. It is neither. Time comes in alternating waves, like electricity. History, though, depends on who is telling the story of an event. Even as we have been sitting here, time has passed, and with it thousands of variant Lucian histories have simultaneously occurred._

The old man had moved to stare out of the window, his hands locked together at his back. Not willing to seem disinterested, but keen to continue learning, Ignis had turned to the next page in his volume four of _Vicipaedia Historia._

When Ignis chanced a look up from his tome, he’d noticed Eruditio’s hands were trembling. His teacher was staring into the sky at something Ignis couldn’t see. There was hesitancy in Eruditio’s hand as it moved to his face, fingers pressing both temples, then down to cover his mouth.

First aid was one of Ignis’ more treasured skills. It was one he’d learned before he ever considered the need to move up from plasters and bandages to the trauma care of the battlefield.

Leaning over his books, he’d asked, _Are you well, sir?_

Eruditio’s voice was low when he spoke, as if doing so meant being indicted for heresy. _If you and I, and everybody else in Eos, have non-linear, alternative currents instead of a set future, then for the Lucii the opposite is true. The king and his son are puppets of destiny, their past and future sacrifices sealed by a covenant that took place two thousand years before they could speak for themselves._

Though he was still a child, Ignis had been aware of the need for unflinching sacrifice in the line of duty. As future hand of the crown prince, he had been sent forth from his strict but loving family home to live in a solar at the Citadel, so he could learn how to manage Noct’s every need.

The honour was great, and in the three years he’d been at the Citadel Ignis had grown fond of his charge. Noct’s shy playfulness and gentle nature shone through every time he stroked the head gardener’s cat, or whenever he lit a stick of incense for his mother in the Citadel’s private chapel. There was the inconvenience of his new favourite trick – hiding Ignis’ glasses – but it was a minor irritation. Ignis might not have had the choice of whether to enter service, but he didn’t regret it.

He’d already lived some of the sacrifices service required, but he didn’t think Noct should have to. _I don’t understand. Why is Prince Noctis required to make sacrifices? He’s only seven, and a prince._

Eruditio crossed to the pile of books he’d brought with him on a trolley. He took his time searching through them, until he found one bound in black leather. There was no writing on the spine. As Eruditio put the book on his desk, Ignis noticed the lock sealing it. It was engraved with the Star of Lucis, and the key hole was the open mouth of a skull.

_Naivety becomes you, Scientia. But it will also destroy you._ Eruditio took a set of tiny keys from inside his robe and unlocked the book.

Y _ou are fond of the young prince, yes?_ He paused to scrutinise Ignis’ expression. He clearly wasn’t going to proceed without an answer.

_My duty is to my prince, as per my oath to the king. I promised King Regis that I would care for his son and see to his protection._

_Your duty. I see._ Eruditio put his hand down on the book. _And your heart? What does your heart say?_

_My heart?_ Ignis wasn’t used to being asked to make judgements with that.

_For you to honour your duty, your heart must be in this as well as your head. You are a highly intelligent boy, Scientia, and you will become a highly intelligent man. But do not overlook what your heart is doing in your hunger to feed your knowledge. Many a man has been undone by ignoring the heart’s quails. Now, I ask you again – what does your heart say?_

Ignis looked down at the book. This was clearly a test to gain access to it, but not one he’d been able to prepare for. The obvious secrecy around its knowledge made him eager, but he knew he would have to answer with complete honesty in order to read it.

Ignis stuttered a little. _I cannot answer this without seeming insolent._

_So be insolent. Embrace it._ Eruditio didn’t flinch. _Honesty shames no man._

Ignis usually had no trouble thinking up an answer to Eruditio’s questions. This one took a little longer than usual.

_You ask me what my heart says._ Ignis interlocked his fingers, eyes set on his inkwell. _My heart says, ‘I belong to Prince Noctis’. No. Not belong. Am moved by. Am given to, wholly, by choice. I was asked to be brother to him. I never expected to feel like brother to him – but I do. He is family. He is chaos, but he is my chaos. My wish is to deliver Prince Noctis from all of his pains and sacrifices, to take them on myself if needs be. Learning how to guide him is more than an honour. It is a gift. His familiarity with me is my greatest treasure._

Did all of that actually come out of his mouth? It’s not that any of it was untrue, he just hadn’t expected to be able to announce his feelings so clearly.

A regretful smile graced Eruditio’s face. _These are feelings of true love – not simply love of duty. They will destroy you even faster than naivety. But do not lose sight of them. Although they make space for weakness, they are also your greatest strength. Draw on them. Supplement your vast intelligence with them, and you might thwart even the gods._

Eruditio put a silver key in the lock of the book. The cover crunched as it was opened to reveal thick, linen pages.

_This is a copy of the original contract between the Gods and the Founder King,_ Eruditio said. _How is your skill in the old tongue?_

Ignis’ skill in the old tongue was excellent, but the more pages of the book he turned, the more he wished it wasn’t. The daylight failed and Eruditio left, and still Ignis didn’t look up. He didn’t go to dinner that day. He didn’t even pause his reading for a drink.

Come the morning he was still wiping tears from his face, prone on the window seat of his solar. On the wall, the Star of Lucis seemed less benign than before. Sleep had evaded him all night. The contract with the astrals had shaken Ignis too much to see anything but the end of all things when he closed his eyes.

 

Ignis isn’t a vulnerable little boy anymore. On the viewing platform, the sun has risen enough to take the chill off. Its light teases the sea, and it seems jubilant at Angelgard’s defeated attentions.

It’s almost time for Ignis to wake Noct up, a skill so sharp he can now get though stage one in less than fifteen minutes. He’s hopeful – though not convinced – that Prompto and Gladio will already have worked on him.

Ignis teases the handrail, picking at a flake of paint surrounded by rust.

“I am a devout man, though not godly.” He doesn’t look at Angelgard, but the mental picture of its claw remains. “My devotion is to one man. Your Chosen one. My Noctis Lucis Caelum.”

Placing both hands on the rail, Ignis leans forward and raises his head. “Gods of Eos, I do not rely on blind faith. I have seen you for what you are. I have read your history and loathed your fickle infighting.”

_What does your heart say?_ Eruditio’s words come back to Ignis. He stands up straight.

“I know you have plans for Noctis that are seeded in your contract with the Founder King. And I know that the words of a mere retainer will mean nothing to you. But a wise man once told me to be honest to the point of insolence, to speak my heart, and to never forget that in weakness there is also strength.”

Ignis remembers the linen pages of the manuscript in his fingers, illuminated in bright colours even as its dark words tore apart his sense of safety. His voice is filled with conviction when he speaks again.

“I implore you to give Noctis deliverance from his pains. To release him from the promise made by his ancestor, a king who swore away his descendants even as he saved Eos from destruction. Whatever you are planning, whatever the cause of the unseasonable darkness and the daemon’s increased strength, let me be the one to bear the brunt of the sacrifices. I will be your weapon in his name. I will bear the ills you plan for him. I will martyr myself on your sword.”

Ignis puts his fist over his heart. “It is my desire to grow old at my king’s side. If that is not to be then I will fight with all my strength to protect him from your hubris. It is my duty as his guardian, and my right as his brother.”

Pushing away from the handrail, Ignis looks directly at Angelgard. “You have the power to release him. If you do not, you are no gods of mine.”

He turns his back on the viewing platform, and the galvanised metal platform rattles as he steps into the waiting elevator. As the metal cage descends, he realises he’s never felt quite such a lack of regret before. He straightens his collar now that he’s out of the wind, and has the itch to summon his daggers.

It’s just as well he doesn’t. The first thing he sees when the door rattles back is a familiar shape making its way up the steps to the lighthouse. Noct’s hair is yet to see a brush, and he rubs his eyes with the heel of both hands as he comes to stand level with Ignis.

“You made me come aaall the way up these steps for you, Specs.” Noct indicates the long staircase curving down the hill to the cabin. “And at this time of the morning. What have you got to say for yourself?” He stretches at length, exposing his belly.

“Apologies. Just taking in the air and the sunrise.” Ignis pushes up his glasses at the bridge. “I don’t suppose you remember sunrises?”

Noct rolls his eyes, as well as his head. “Ha ha. Look, can you do something with Monica? If I have to eat another breakfast of burnt toast and scorched eggs I’m going to abdicate.”

“Goodness. We can’t have that. Would you like me to argue that she deserves a quiet morning, or that you would prefer a meal with vegetables grown and prepared by your own hand?”

“Whatever works.” Noct leads the way back down the steps. “But no carrots. Maybe some fries.”

“Fries don’t count, Noct.” Ignis follows two steps behind – as he always has and always will.

“Are you sure?” Halfway, the wind catches the tails of Noct’s fatigues.

Ignis isn’t thinking about the fries when he answers. He’s thinking about his challenge to the astrals.

“Yes,” he says. “Without doubt.”


End file.
